


Muddy Waters

by greerwatson



Series: ITOWverse: Swim Challenge [8]
Category: RENAULT Mary - Works
Genre: Gen, ITOWverse, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aristotle observes the pond, before returning to discuss its mysterious appearance with the other philosophers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muddy Waters

**Author's Note:**

> This series was written for the 2010 Summer Challenge on the [maryrenaultfics](http://maryrenaultfics.livejournal.com/) LiveJournal community, to the prompt “swim”.

He prodded the muddy bank with a stick.  Something swiftly buried itself out of sight; and the hole seeped full of water.   _It would_ , Aristotle thought, _have been so much easier when the Companions were boys, and he could put_ them _to the gathering of specimens._  Still, needs must.  He took off his sandals, hitched up the skirt of his _χιτων_ , and stepped into the wet, feeling muck squelch up between his toes.   _Did something wriggle?_  He bent over, ignoring the creaking in his knees, not noticing as his hem trailed in the water. 

Even as he made his observations of pond life, his thoughts drifted sideways to the meeting between Lysis and Alexias.  That they all came to this place at different times in their lives—that was something that the philosophers had discussed.  Usually, however, Lysis and Alexias arrived together, _εραστης_ and _ερωμενος_ in the joy of love, eager to learn from the best of Athens.  Aristotle had certainly seen the older Alexias before as well, with or without his wife (with her veil discreetly drawn partway across her face and eyes modestly lowered in the presence of men outside her family).  He had not hitherto encountered their children; but he was not surprised that the other man had them.  As far as he knew, though, today had been the first time that Alexias the older and younger had come to this place on the same occasion.

The noisy arrival of the young family had caught the attention of everyone down by the pond.  As Alexias turned to look at the group by the willow and the family parted at the entrance to the clubhouse, Aristotle had wondered what would happen.  He was sure that he was not alone in the speculation.  Since the men were clustered close, perhaps Alexias could not quite make out who, exactly, was present; but no one had any difficulty identifying the only man in the family party.  As he headed towards them, Alexias—the younger Alexias—had stared, with a still, stiff face; and then had said, very quietly, that he thought he might be needed at home.  He had shifted back on his heel, turned, and gone behind the willow so easily that one almost missed the fact that he did not walk away on the other side.

Lysis greeted Alexias—the elder Alexias—easily enough when he joined them; but there had been an odd look in his eye.  It must be strange to see one’s _ερωμενος_ suddenly a man full grown (though surely welcome to know the good fortune of his future).  There had been something hidden in the older friend’s face, as well—something that Aristotle recognized from the faces of Plato and Phaedo, now and then, when they saw Sokrates.  Sokrates must have seen it, too; undoubtedly, he had guessed its import.  But, after all, the other philosophers came as men of middle years and Sokrates had known them in their youth.  It was the way of nature that he would, in their time, be dead.

In Alexias’s eyes, that look did not betoken long life for Lysis.  Which was a pity:  he was not brilliant, but far from a fool.  Aristotle could only hope that he hadn’t noticed. 

He did not know the other man’s fate.  Unlike Sokrates, whose death was infamous, Lysis was scarcely known to history.  Perhaps war:  there had been war in that time.   _One could hope so_ , thought Aristotle.   _There are worse ways to die than defending one’s City._

It was a difficult meeting; and the conversation that resumed was awkward.  When the Secretary descended suddenly, it was noticeable that Alexias did not demur, but acceded to her demand without argument, readily leaving the other men and rejoining his family.  The others watched the swimming lessons for a while, almost without comment, and then turned back to their previous discussion.  Another woman briefly came and then departed; down at the far end of the pond, a little boy had played on the bridge; Alexander came alone from the house and went into the woods—all these they noticed, in passing, and disregarded as trivial.

Aristotle scrambled to the bank, waved each muddy foot in turn in the water, and rubbed them more or less dry on the grass. 

“What have you found?”

“Fish and worms.”

There were smiles.  The various Ancients, philosophers and warriors both, had been observing his antics with some amusement.  He knew it; but he didn’t quite care:  fish and worms were not without interest.  He simply put on his sandals—barely noticing the stain on his hem—and started to circumnavigate the pond.  Now and then, he stopped to examine and identify the vegetation by its edge. 

At the far end, where the stream passed under the bridge, he hesitated, wondering if perhaps he should follow Alexander into the wood.  Then, he thought better of it:  woods there had been before, if not quite in this location; but the pond was new.  So was the bridge.  An almost path—he wondered who might have trodden it—led round to the arched span.  He contemplated its shape before moving closer to examine the stones themselves.

After he was done, he came back along the other side of the pond, greeting Alexias and patting one of the little girls on the head before joining the others under the tree.  A slave offered him a cool drink, which he quaffed in one long gulp:  he knew better than to drink pond water, and the sun was hot out of the shade.  He held the cup out to be refilled, and then sat on the grass.

“So, your observations?” asked Phaedo.

“As to the ducks, that means nothing:  they could have flown here at dawn before any of us arrived.  The presence of the fish is more curious; but perhaps they swam up from some hidden sea beneath us, for there must be a source of water to feed this pond:  we know that the current runs out, and down the stream; and, if the water were not replenished somehow, then the pond would run dry, which we can see is not the case.”

The others nodded:  this was logical.

“It is the presence of the worms in the mud (which I know do not swim) and the reeds by the bank (whose rate of growth is familiar to all of us) which concerns me.  They are here; and yet I cannot explain it.”  He paused, hoping that those whose primary philosophical interests did not lie in the observation of natural phenomena would grasp the anomaly.  “Also,” he added, “there is the bridge.  It is not merely that its construction is unfamiliar in its details.  There is lichen on those stones, in natural patterns that indicate they have been set in position for years, without shifting.”

The bridge had not been there yesterday.

“Set here by a god?” suggested Ptolemy tentatively.  “I see no _human_ explanation.”

“It is not the bridge itself that is significant,” said Sokrates, “but what it betokens of the nature of this place.”

“If it were not so mutable,” offered Plato, “I should suspect that we were in some world of the ideal.  But how can an Ideal alter so?”

“My notes are not yet in any form fit to read,” said Aristotle; “but … in time.”

“When you have finished, it will be a valuable addition to the library here,” said Ptolemy.  “Not as extensive as _my_ Library, of course; but still….”

**Author's Note:**

> The mysterious pond in this series is the summer development of the area of frozen ice that appeared in the Christmas ITOWverse series.


End file.
